I was out roller blading today.
My second attempt this summer. I have had the blades for years but it always takes some time to get used to blading. To simply be able to strap 'em on and not feel the pain in one's foot as one is roller blading requires a period of adjustment.
So, as I was on my way along the trail, I decided after a few blocks to have a seat on a bench to allow my ankles and feet to stop screaming at me. I sat having a sip of water when I saw a demure , older man come off the trail and walk in my direction.
Is demure the right adjective to use for a man? Is it correct? I'll text Jonah Hill. He always knows the right thing to say!
Anyway, I could see this man in a navy blue jacket, pants and sandals, coming towards me slowly, albeit a bit hesitantly.
"Can I help you?"- I asked.
"I am looking for Tiff Rd."- he said quietly.
"This is Tiff Road." - I say. "Do you live on Tiff Road?"
Obviously he was having a problem. He wasn't quite sure where he was.
"Where do you live?"- I continued.
"On Lake Street."- he says.
He started reaching in is pocket.
"Do you have it written down?" I stood up off the bench.
He took out an old brown wallet, flipped it open and showed me his driver's licence. The man in the photo looked nothing like the man standing in front of me.
"Your name is Robert?"
"Yes, it is. Robert Cleavley."
I checked the address.
"You live on Lake Street not Tiff Road."
He didn't seem to know for sure. He did know there was a park nearby. A small park. I pointed across the road to the small park called "MacArthur Park".
At this point I knew I couldn't leave him alone but I was towering over him in my roller blades.
"I can't really walk you home with these blades on."- I said.
I didn't know what to do and there was no one else about. I guess I would have to call the police for help.
Then, at that moment along comes an officer in a police car and stops at the corner. I waved to him in a Yoo-Hoo manner. You know, like an old farm wife calling the men in for supper, right hand held high, flinging a tea towel frantically in circles as I waved my hand.
What a queen!
"Excuse me. Excuse me. Officer!"- I yelled as I waved my imaginary tea towel.
He was a huge man, amply filling the driver's seat behind the steering wheel. He had a big bald head and was wearing- what I guessed was, police-issue sunglasses. You know the kind.
His name could have been Bubba or Frank or Tiny even.
I didn't ask.
He stopped and looked up at me through the open passenger side window.
I am sure he was thinking- What the Hell does this Fag want?
I use Fag here in the way it is meant to be used not the half-baked way that Jonah Hill tried to explain to the media his unfortunate use of the word last week along with the additional words "suck my cock". In this circumstance, I didn't feel I needed to say those words to the officer, nor did he intimate he wanted to say those words to me- unless of course a fine bottle of my favourite white wine was a part of the deal...
But I digress...
Anyway, I couldn't see his eyes, what with the sunglasses and all.
Back to the story.
At this point I looked down and realized I was clutching my chest with my right hand, fingers stretched wide, while bending down trying not to topple over in my roller blades. I'll bet the officer could smell "The Gay". I explained the situation and eventually he got our of the cruiser and came around to my side and spoke with the gentleman, asking for his ID.
He helped the man into the back seat and said he'd see him safely home.
He just totally practically ignored me.
See if I care- I thought.
A lady walking her dog who had stopped to watch as the latter part of my story was unfolding, looks to me and says:
"Good Job!"
"Yes, my Good Deed for the day!" I say as I head in the direction of the paved trail.
I'll bet the cop didn't give me a second look.
Too bad.
My ass- in particular, was looking incredibly firm and nice today.
